Page 10 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

I nodded, pretending to be indifferent, but my gaze flicked back to him as he stepped out of the spotlight.

Harleigh smirked knowingly, but thankfully, she dropped it, her attention turning back to the arena as the announcer wrapped up. Meanwhile, I sat down, gripping my beer a little tighter, and tried not to look back.

As the event began, Harleigh and I made our way to the small tables set up near the edge of the VIP section, above the arena floor. The seats were close enough to feel the vibrations of the bulls’ stomping and hear the snorts and bellows of the animals.

The first rider out of the chute was announced as Dalton Culpepper, a young guy who looked barely old enough to rent a car. The gate swung open, and the bull tore out like a bullet, kicking up sand and dust as Dalton clung to the rope. The ride lasted seconds—he was bucked off with brutal force, landing hard in the dirt.

I winced but couldn’t look away.

It was dirty in every sense of the word. The riders, covered in dust and grime, threw themselves into this chaos willingly. The arena floor was a mess of churned sand and dirt, streaked with sweat and whatever else came off those bulls. It was unclean, raw, and entirely unlike the polished environments I was used to.

And yet, I couldn’t deny how fascinating it was.

These people risked their lives for this. They dove headfirst into an arena where they were tossed around like rag dolls, landing in filth and sand that clung to them as they stood. It was chaotic, unpredictable, and strangely captivating.

A few more riders followed. Most didn’t make it, but one finally hit the eight-second mark. The buzzer rang, and the crowd erupted in cheers as he leaped off the bull, narrowly avoiding a wild hoof.

The announcer called out the score, rattling off numbers I didn’t understand, but I didn’t care. I was enthralled. The bulls were magnificent in their own terrifying way.

“It sucks you in when you watch it, doesn’t it?”

The voice startled me, and I turned to see Roger settling into the chair next to me. I hadn’t even noticed him walk up.

“Oh . . .” I straightened, suddenly self-conscious about how intently I’d been watching. “Sorry, I was⁠—”

“Entranced,” he finished with a grin, his eyes crinkling under the brim of his hat. “Happens to the best of us. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Beautiful? That wouldn’t be the first word I’d use to describe the scene in front of me. It was disgusting—the dirt, the sweat, the mess of it all—but it was also authentic in a way I hadn’t expected. There was nothing staged or polished here, just grit, determination, and a rawness that felt impossible to look away from.

“They’re bringing Mike on in ten,” Harleigh whispered, and I stood, breaking my attention away from the event and looking back toward the door.

“Thanks for letting me know,” I mumbled and felt bad momentarily for not thinking about my fiancé. The man who was going to perform for his biggest crowd yet.

I exited the VIP area—down the steps and toward the backstage door, where Mike would be coming out from. The crew was positioning a mic stand behind the announcer, and everything was set for him to come out and perform.

I pushed open the door to a little hallway where Mike was standing with his business manager, Trishelle.

“Hey guys,” I said happily, but when Mike’s gaze snapped up to me, I was met with anger and frustration rather than what I would’ve expected.

“We’re practicing,” Trishelle said coolly.

Trishelle had always been there, as long as I’d known Mike. Back in college, they’d been inseparable—not romantically, but close enough that it was hard to tell the difference sometimes. When Mike decided to make music his career, she stepped into the role of his business manager without missing a beat.

I’d never let myself feel jealous of her. Yet, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that she’d always had a thing for him. The way she stood too close, the way her presence always felt permanent, like she belonged in his world in a way I never fully did.

Mike flicked his gaze over me, scanning my outfit from head to toe. His expression twisted into something unmistakably disapproving.

“Ew, that’s what you’re wearing?” he said.

I instinctively tugged at my jacket in an effort to cover the bright pink pants and the glittery fringe.

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose like my presence was unbearable. “Can you leave? I need to practice and get in the zone.”

“Oh.” My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be. I was smaller than I wanted to be. “Sure. Yeah. See you afterward.”

I stepped back, trying to salvage what was left of my dignity. As I moved toward the door, I could already hear their hushed voices behind me, their words blending into a low murmur.

I glanced back once, catching the way Trishelle leaned in slightly, her body language comfortable and familiar. Mike didn’t even look up.